


Seraphim.

by clxude



Series: of Sinners and Saints [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Friends to Enemies, Happy Ending, I promise Akaashi and Bokuto are safe, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Temporary Character Death, angel bokuto, angel kuroo, astrologer akaashi, btw kiyoko is God in this, please don't be afraid of the character death it's not a central character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6779791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clxude/pseuds/clxude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a series of bad decisions: Kuroo loved a human; Bokuto was loyal; Akaashi took a strange man home.<br/>But the stars are still overhead. They still have a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Genesis.

**Author's Note:**

> I really should be working on a project for english or my kinkunikage one shot but instead I'm doing this. Sorry if it's a bit clunky in the beginning; I haven't done an actual chapter fic in ages, and the last one I did was under 200 words per chapter and I wrote it ever Wednesday before classes started.
> 
> beta-ed by [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)

He is flying, hurtling through the cosmos at the speed of light. He is untouchable, unstoppable, save for the stardust flurries colliding with him in space. He can barely feel it though, his existence something less than corporeal, impervious to any pain from something like this, something subatomic. 

 

There was a kind of simplicity when it came to moments like this, with only distant galaxies in his vision. He passed by each one in a heartbeat, only to be replaced with the next. They rush past him in a swarm of colors, dancing at the edge of his vision for a longer time afterwards. 

 

He’s getting closer now, his huge black wings propelling him across the universe. He can see a faint light from Coelum, shining brightly at the edge of known space.

 

He flies faster.

 

…

 

Coelum is a light in the darkness, a beacon of hope even as despair leaks into every planet’s atmosphere and every star’s core. It is the one truly safe place in the universe, guarded by legions of archangels. 

 

You can see every galaxy, every sun and insignificant moon, from its numerous towers. They ring the perimeter, standing watch. The white stone reflects the light of one thousand suns. 

 

And from one of those towers, a single angel stands. He’s not important, a low ranking cadet in the eighteenth regiment. A guardian angel for a human, barely an acknowledged profession in this day and age. Few know his name, and he is mostly recognized by his trademark bedhead. But he doesn’t care who knows his name; the shadows are better, safer, anyway. And from one of those towers, he can watch Earth, and the human in his charge. 

 

Kuroo smiles fondly down at the blue planet. He has been watching this human for years now, barely a blip in the cosmic timeline, but he’s seen the boy grow from a single cell to a college student. Watching Kozume Kenma is just a job, true, but he’s the best charge Kuroo has ever had in the past millennium. 

 

And, Kenma isn’t as reckless as the last one, so that’s a plus. He’s docile, almost, calm and serene, definitely. 

 

Kuroo clambers onto the window sill, his eyes never once leaving Kenma. After confirming that the blonde isn’t in harm’s way for the final time, the angel jumps, soaring through space. His inky wings keep him from ever slowing under the speed of light, and soon, he’s entering Earth’s atmosphere.

 

_ Getting a closer look never hurt,  _ he tells himself as he settles on Kenma’s bookshelf as the boy types away on his laptop. Kuroo knows Kenma can’t see him, but he’s  _ so  _ close. Kuroo wants to reach out and touch him, to finally know what his bleach blonde hair feels like under the angel’s fingertips, but he stops himself. 

 

It’s the one rule, or the only one guardian angels ever bothered to follow. Don’t get too close, don’t touch your charge. But Kuroo wants to. He wants Kenma, and as each Earth day goes by, watching isn’t enough. He wants more,  _ needs  _ it. 

 

Soon enough, he’s charming his way into Kenma’s coding class. Kuroo doesn’t know a thing about HTML, but casting a veil to hide the fact is easy enough. He and Kenma grow closer, even if Kenma ignores his advancements for the most part. Kuroo’s happy. 

 

…

 

“You haven’t been on Coelum as much lately,” Bokuto comments. The two of them are in one of Coelum’s many gardens, walking between rows of pastel flowers and fluorescent trees. It’s been several human lifetimes since the last time they walked together like this, what with the wars on the outer rim drafting archangels faster than one can breathe and Kuroo’s... _ fascination  _ with his new human charge, and guardian angel is happy to savor the moment. 

 

“And if I haven’t?” 

 

“Your commanding officer mentioned it to me. Nekomata wanted me to ask, since he knew we’re close. And if….” the archangel sighs, combing his fingers through his black and white hair. “You know the rules. You keep your charge alive and safe, nothing more. Don’t get - “

 

“Close, don’t touch.” Kuroo stops walking, watching Bokuto’s back for the few seconds for the other angel to realize. “His name is Kenma, Bo. I know the rules, and getting close like this just allows me to do my job better. Do you have any idea the last time he even got a _ paper cut?  _ Sixth grade. Sixth! And it’s all because I’ve been protecting him. I’m good at my job, isn’t that enough? So what if I  _ care?  _ I’m sorry I do, really, but honestly, Bokuto, I don’t give a shit.”

 

“They will find out, Kuroo, and when they do, they’ll kill him. They always find out; you remember what happened to Lev.”

 

The air between them is pulsing, power rolling off of both of them in waves. Kuroo knows Bokuto is right, that he only wants the best for Kuroo. Nekomata would find out, eventually, if it was obvious enough for even the young archangel to see. 

 

“They won’t. I’ll protect Kenma, and no one will stop me.” And he’s facing the impossible. This will only end in bloodshed, but Kuroo can’t give up, not now.

 

He’s gone before Bokuto can respond. 

 

…

 

He’s never in Coelum anymore, when Kuroo can avoid it. He’s with Kenma constantly these days, and maybe Bokuto was right about how he’s getting too close. 

 

Kenma’s playing a game on his DS, humming contently. His head rests on Kuroo’s lap, and the angel cards his fingers through his blonde hair.  Kuroo has seen an infinite number of miracles and impossible things in his vast lifetime, but watching Kenma play, his small fingers zooming over the controls, has never failed to amaze Kuroo. 

 

Kuroo’s fingers slow for a half second. Something is vibrating in his chest, calling him. He recognizes it as commanding officer, Nekomata, but he hadn’t been expecting the call. Guardian angels were expected to report to the high ups every few years or whenever their human took major damages, but only six months has past since Kuroo last saw the archangel. 

 

He stands, depositing a pillow under the human’s head.

 

“Kuro?” Kenma pauses his game, glancing at him, eyes questioning. “Where are you going?” 

 

“Ah, work. My boss wants to talk to me,” which is true, even if Kuroo has long since stopped referring to watching over Kenma as ‘work’. ‘Work’ is Kenma hiding in the back room of Game Stop, avoiding customers and organizing Call of Duty for a paycheck. That isn’t Kenma, and it hasn’t been him for as long as Kuroo can remember. “I’ll be back soon though, promise.”

 

“Okay,” and Kenma smiles up at him, before turning back to his game. 

 

Kuroo hopes he didn’t lie, and that he will be back before he knows it. 

 

He melts out of existence in the hallway, fading into the shadows. 

 

_ Please let me come back here, let me come back home. _

 

…

 

Kuroo is on his knees, hands behind his back as the marble tiles dig into his kneecaps. Nekomata is standing before hand, switching between glaring at a clipboard and glaring at the guardian angel. His second, Kai, standing behind him and holds an identical clipboard. 

 

“Do you know why you are here, Kuroo?” the archangel asks, voice like acid.

 

Kuroo knows what he should say:  _ yes, for forming an attachment to not only my charge, but a human. It’s beneath me, as a guardian angel. I should repent, and beg both you, my superior, and Kiyoko-sama, for forgiveness. For my life, even, if you deem it worth taking. Please, forgive me so I may return to my position. _

 

But Kuroo has never been that angel, and probably never will be.

 

“No, I don’t,” he says instead, smirking slightly, keeping his eyes on the tile. He should hold his tongue.

 

“Kai, would you please explain to Kuroo why he is here?”

 

“Certainly,” the second clears his throat. “Kuroo Tetsurou, guardian angel charged with Kozume Kenma, human, twenty-three years old. You have been accused of forming attachments to said human, allowing your judgement to be clouded, focusing solely on Kozume, instead of the betterment of the universe and Kiyoko-sama.”

 

“Anything else, Kai? It is crucial that Kuroo understands the severity of his actions.”

 

There’s pressure building in Kuroo’s chest, like someone has wrapped their arms around his ribs and  _ squeezed.  _ It’s Nekomata, draining Kuroo of his power until he final snaps and casts Kuroo out of Coelum. 

 

“Kuroo has allowed Kozume to not only see and interact with him, but also engage in promiscuous activities with the human. These…  _ actions  _ have been happening for several years, and Kuroo has failed to ever report them.”

 

“Isn’t that disappointing, Kai?” The pressure swells, and Kuroo’s blood pounds in his ears. “He had so much potential, and he casted it aside for something as frivolous as a  _ human.” _

 

“Your orders, sir?”

 

And God, does Kuroo really hate Kai in that moment, and the way he follows after every order like a dog. Kuroo wants to see Kai bite, to snap at Nekomata like a wolf.

 

“Take care of Kozume. He is no longer under the protection of the eighteenth regiment. I’ll handle Kuroo myself.”

 

Kuroo’s breath catches in his throat. Bokuto had warned him, years ago. Kuroo was a fool to think this would end differently.

 

“Yes, sir,” Kai bows before he leaves the room, the door slamming behind him. 

 

“You know what is going to happen, correct?” Nekomata asks as he steps in front of Kuroo.

 

“Yes, sir.” Kuroo can see it in his head like a movie: Kai, standing over Kenma, brandishing a bloody sword; the light fading from Kenma’s eyes; blood staining the human’s shirt as it wells up from his wound. There’s nothing he can do to stop it now; Kuroo should have been more careful.

 

“Good. That makes this easier.” 

 

The archangel places his right hand on Kuroo’s forehead. It’s cold at first, but rapidly heats up until it is burning Kuroo, leaving him writhing under it. He’s shaking and he can’t stop as it strips him of every ounce of his power faster than he can heal himself. By the time Nekomata steps away from the guardian angel, he’s barely a hust of his former self.

 

“You will regain some of your former power, eventually. A cherub will be here to escort you out of Coelum soon. You’ll be taken to Earth,” he pauses, weighing his next words. “Kai should be finished soon. You and the human are still connected, so you will feel his pain.”

 

And Kuroo does, every second of fiery-hot angelic steel slipping between his second and third ribs. He feels Kenma dying, his last breath passing between his lips. Kuroo feels like he’s dying as well. 

 

…

 

He wakes up on Earth in a crater, dirt piled high all around him. He no longer feels a shooting pain in his chest, but he can imagine it well enough, and he will make every angel come to know that pain in time. 

 

Kenma was his. The archangels would learn to not touch what doesn’t belong to them. 

 

…

 


	2. exodus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this is where I officially run out of chapter names, unless I change to the Tanakh, because after this is Leviticus, which is where there's all the stuff about how "being gay is a sin" and you can't go to church if your balls are injured and no wizards (???), according to Wikipedia, so um yeah.
> 
> I'll think of something, at any rate.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is for that person in the group chat that said it was a very Bokuto thing to almost kill a bunch of sheep. Hope you enjoy, and suffer ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Oh, btw, my computer says that ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) is misspelled. Just thought I'd share that.

Bokuto learned how to kill a star before the end of his first cycle on Coelum. 

 

The first supernova he ever destroyed only had one planet in its system, small and purple and full of rocks, and it was far too small, too distant with an ever changing climate to ever support more than a handful of microscopic organisms. It was asked of him, a peaceful solution to end an oncoming war. Planets on the outer rim were always fighting for power, both literal and metaphorical. Dying stars were the brightest source around, and killing something at the root is the most permanent solution when it comes to galactic warfare. 

 

Now, a hundred systems later, the archangel doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse as stellar fusion takes place. And why should he? None of the cells he has extinguished ever had a shred of sentience, and even if they did, Bokuto had never understood the concept of life in its entirety, of the idea of not  _ living  _ when no one could remember a time before the archangels. He was immortal, essentially, and the deaths of others did not phases him. 

 

Which is exactly why he does not understand Kuroo’s betrayal, even as Nekomata, the guardian angel’s commanding officer, explains Kuroo’s connection to a human. A  _ human.  _ Bokuto had known, years ago, that Kuroo was getting too close. The archangel had warned him, begged him. Kuroo hadn’t listened then, and Nekomata consoles him now, telling him he couldn’t have stopped Kuroo anyway.

 

“His halo has been corrupted. I doubt he will ever be able to return to Coelum now, even if Kiyoko-sama demanded it. His soul has splintered beyond repair.”

 

They’re in the garden, walking along the outer wall. Stars litter the sky, each one trillions of miles away. Their light is faint, but the two angels can see well enough in the dark to get by. 

 

“Do you understand what this means, Bokuto? Kuroo is no longer your friend. The  Perduellis will recruit him, and it’s possible he will try to drag you down with him.”

 

Bokuto has heard the rumors, they all have. The Perduellis: destroyer of worlds, vanquisher of the light, death of angels. And if they had Kuroo - 

 

_ No,  _ Bokuto shakes his head. Even if Kuroo thinks that the angels are monsters now, he would never join  the Perduellis. They had darkness in their hearts and souls, far more than the guardian angel would ever be able to hold.

 

“You must uphold the code. If Kuroo tries to engage with you, or in anyway promotes the Perduellis, you  _ must  _ put an end to it. He was no longer one of us the moment he fell for a human, and he is no longer your comrade. Do not treat him as such.” 

 

They reach the end of the path, and Bokuto turns to face Nekomata.

 

“I understand. If Kuroo has turned,” he pauses, holding in his next words for as long as he can, before finally letting them go. “If he has, I will dispose of him with extreme prejudice.”

 

“Good. Some day, I believe you could rise through the ranks to rival Michael.”

 

_ Please don’t let it come to that. Please keep him away from me, if only to keep him safe. _

 

…

 

The archangel is standing on a precipice, looking down at the sloping green hills that cover this planet. Creatures, pink and fluffy, lumber up the hills. One of them, barely more than a baby, brushes against Bokuto’s leg. He reaches down to pet it, but stops, curling his hand into a fist instead. He hasn’t destroyed a star in a millennia, and it is his first with sentient life. 

 

He sighs, tilting his head up to the sun. This one is old, hot and powerful with a faint blue hue. It’s a shame to kill it, to destroy every single one of its atoms and spread them across the galaxy, after all it has done for this system. 

 

He wiggles his shoulders, loosening up his wings before stepping off the cliff. His tawny wings catch on the air quickly, slowing his descent before he coasts through the atmosphere. Bokuto is flying at the speed of the sound, but he can still pick out every heat signature, every individual  _ living  _ creature, to live both on the surface of the planet and in it. There’s millions of them, carrying out their lives, obvious of the destruction awaiting them.

 

Bokuto can hear every single one of their heartbeats, and the sound is pounding in head like crow wings as they form a murder, like the horse hoofs that pull Death’s chariot. When Bokuto was first created, pieced together with Kiyoko’s breath and fire, she did not forge him into an angel of destruction, but that’s what he is now, and nothing can stop him anymore. He does what is asked of him, without hesitation. If this is what she requests, this is what Kiyoko-sama will have.

 

Once he has circled the entire planet a few times, he soars upwards, rocketing into space. The planet and its soft pink creatures blur until it’s a verdant sea. He flies further into space, solar winds tugging at his hair. 

 

Electricity sparks along his fingertips, lighting up his fingernails. His entire body hums with power, spiking up his hair even more than it normally is. He flaps his wings once so he doesn’t drift away from the target.

 

“Thank you, Kiyoko-sama, for the power you give me.” Bokuto whispers, extending his arms in front of him as he stares, dead eyed, into the star’s core. “May I serve you, and only you, until the universe deems it time for my death.”

 

The sparks surrounding his fingers grow hotter, changing from white to blue. His hands are a ghastly gray color, but trails of gold are beginning to sprawl across the skin.

 

“Thank you, Kiyoko-sama - “

 

“I’ve always wondered what this looked like.” 

 

Bokuto lurches forward, ducking away from the sudden touch on his shoulder. He turns away, and his breath catches in his throat.

 

“I’ve always wondered what it looks like when you kill a star.” And it’s Kuroo before him, his hair falling his right eye. It’s longer now than it had been a few years ago, and messier as well, if that’s even possible. There’s a mad glint in his eyes; his smile is crooked, secretive. “Is this what Kiyoko-sama asked of you, every time you went away?”

 

“Kuroo,” Bokuto wants to touch him, to see if the guardian angel is really who Bokuto remembers him to be. “I’m under orders to kill you. Nekomata - he said that if you joined Perduellis, I would have to put a sword through your heart.”

 

“Just like Kenma, then. Makes sense really,” Kuroo laugh, though it comes out bitter, full of remorse. He rakes his fingers through his hair, tugging it back and away from his eyes. “But, there’s no need to kill me, at least not yet. I wouldn’t join Perduellis, even after they killed Kenma. I could never be in charge there.”

 

“Kuroo,” and then Bokuto does reach out to touch, because these words aren’t the words of the Kuroo he knows, and these eyes are to hard. He needs to feel the stardust in Kuroo’s veins, liquid proof that this is still his friend. “Kuroo - “

 

“You’re pitiful. You are all, really.” Kuroo snaps his fingers, summoning his angel blade to his hand. The silver metal glints in the starlight. “None of this would have happened if angels weren’t so fucking  _ uptight.  _ So what if I loved a human?”

 

Bokuto has his arms between them, forming some semblance of a shield. Kuroo flips his dagger, holding the blade parallel to his forearm. Bokuto needs to fly, to escape. But he can’t move. His wings are glued to his back, and his secondary feathers barely shift to keep him from drifting.

 

“At least I felt  _ something.”  _

 

And that is when Kuroo moves, flinging himself through the air. His knife bites into Bokuto’s shoulder, eliciting a gasp from the archangel. His wings lock up as blood drips from the wound. He’s not healing even after Kuroo yanks the metal free; the angelic steel suspending an angel’s healing process. 

 

“Do you feel something now, Bokuto?” Bokuto flinches when Kuroo drags the blood stained metal over his cheek, digging the point into the flesh above the archangel’s jaw, but he can’t move far, not when Kuroo’s fingernails are restraining his wrists. “Or are you still too far under their spell to know anything other than pain?”

 

“Please,” he whimpers, tugging feebly at at the hands holding him.

 

“Oh oh oh, has a lowly guardian angel made you  _ beg?” _

 

“Let me _ go!”  _ And Bokuto pushes with all of his might, snapping his wings, flying straight for the blue star he was sent to kill. 

 

As an archangel, he’s faster than Kuroo, but blood lost leaves him light headed and his wingbeats unsteady. He lifts his arms as well as he can with his injury, lighting flames on his fingertips. The shockwave would kill Kuroo, and maybe even Bokuto if his injury is too severe. 

  
But, arms wrap around his waist, dragging him back away from the star. He fights as hard as he can, but a hand clamps around his mouth and nose. His vision is fading, and soon, he loses consciousness completely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up, but chapters won't be an everyday sort of thing after this. I start exams soon, and I'm doing hqbb as well, which will definitely cut down on my writing time. But since I won't be thinking about plot as much, chapters will be easier to write


	3. job.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter tw: graphic depictions of violence; graphic torture; blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably didn't clarify this, and I really should have earlier on, but angels are only non-corporeal when they're flying. Sorry for any confusion, hope this clears it up.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry Bokuto
> 
> HEADS UP: it gets _very_ graphic throughout most of the chapter, but this should be the worst of it, so there will be a complete run down at the end of chapter of everything graphic in a user friendly way. You should be fine at "red stone covers the terrain" so ctrl+f and type that in and you'll be golden

Kuroo is gripping his jaw, but Bokuto can barely feel the pressure with all of the blood between them, sticky and hot. The archangel’s face is growing increasingly numb. A black eye is taking form, and the swelling leaves Bokuto barely able to see. Silver liquid - angel blood - still steeps out of his shoulder wound, unable to hear with the repeated injuries from angelic steel. 

 

He shifts his arms, attempting to make the bonds slightly less restrictive. It doesn’t work, and only succeeds in making them tighter. He winces, and the movement calls Kuroo back to where he’s sitting. Kuroo slinks in front of him, careful to not touch the bonding wards holding Bokuto in place.

 

“How does this feel, Bo?” Kuroo asks, his mouth centimeters from Bokuto’s ear as he leans over the restrained angel. “Does it feel like you’re burning in Hell? I hope so; that’s where angels like you belong. Traitors, the whole entire lot.”

 

He swings his right leg up over Bokuto’s lap until he’s straddling the archangel, dagger in hand. The metal gleams with his blood.

 

“Does it? Come on, answer me,” Kuroo’s blade presses against Bokuto’s neck right above the top of his spine. It nicks skin and bone, and a thin stream of blood rolls down his neck. It’s hot, spreading against his skin and leaving his wings tacky where they are taped to his back. Bokuto is not sure where Kuroo picked up a human commodity such as fucking  _ duct tape,  _ but he isn’t about to ask. 

 

Bokuto inhales sharply, before spitting out, “ _ Fuck you,  _ Kuroo. I hope you go to Hell and - “

 

He doesn’t finish his sentence before Kuroo’s fist is colliding with his jaw, knocking out a single tooth. It cuts the inside of his mouth, and Bokuto spits it out, along with a glob of saliva and blood. He shakes his head, before turning back to Kuroo, a wild smile on his face even as blood drips down his lips. 

 

“Shut up, Bokuto, or answer the question!” Kuroo screams, digging his fingernails into the bruising flesh of Bokuto’s jaw. 

 

“No,” the word is stronger than he expects it to be, firm and unshaken. He is Bokuto, archangel of the Lord. He will not be broken. 

 

But, Kuroo doesn’t care;he’s too broken and screwed up from the death of his human charge. Rank doesn’t matter to him, and that much is obvious as he stabs the archangel in the stomach, dragging the blade up until it catches on his sternum. Blood squirts out of the wound, silver and bright in the harsh yellow light. The injury, inflicted with angelic steel, would have killed a weaker angel, but not Bokuto, and he blacks out, praying that Kuroo will leave him long enough to heal. 

 

…

 

When Bokuto wakes, his hands are no longer bound to the chair he sits on, but instead connected to the floor with long chains, allowing him to lean down and reach the tray of manna at his feet. He wolfs down the bread as quickly as he can, swallowing without chewing. He chokes on a few mouthfuls, but the archangel continues to stuff his mouth until the tray is empty.

 

His stomach lurches at the sudden intake; it’s been eons since he last ate, and his injuries have reduced him to little more than a humanoid creature. His wings are molting, and Bokuto, if he wasn’t constantly on the brink of bleeding out, would be embarrassed by the pile of brown, blood stained feathers underneath his seat. He jerks forward, head between his knees as his chest heaves, barely holding the bread down.

 

“Kiyoko-sama,” he calls out, the words slipping out before he can stop himself. He knows she won’t come for him, that she is more of a myth, a legend, than anything else. A deity, above everything, including her angelic army. But he’s been driven half mad for Kuroo’s sick revenge, and Kiyoko is the only thing he has left to hope for. _ “Kiyoko-sama, lend your strength and your steel to me, so I may rally to your side.” _

 

He keeps his head above his knees, his wrists crossed behind his back. The wards sting his wrists, but after every wound Kuroo has left on his skin, it leaves a mark as inconsequential as a gnat bite. He can hear the hum of magic, but he tunes it out, steadying his breathing before he repeats the prayer. 

 

_ “Kiyoko-sama, lend me your strength and your steel to me, so I may rally to your side.” _ And then he feels  _ it,  _ a shock of power running through his entire body. He’s heard the stories, rumors and tall tales, whispers of battle hardened warriors Kiyoko had chosen to stand beside her at her court  _ (Daichi and Asahi; Oikawa and Iwaizumi; each unstoppable in the field of war once granted with her blessing). “Kiyoko-sama, lend me your - “ _

 

The door swings open. Kuoo wanders in, this time without his dagger, and instead a sword in hand. Bokuto recognizes it; it belongs to him, granted to Bokuto by a long ago disappeared aide to the Lord. His skin crawls at the sight of it in the guardian angel’s grasp.

 

“I’m back,” Kuroo singsongs, and the words almost sound innocent, but his expression is anything but. “Did you miss me, Bo?”

 

_ “Strength and your steel,” _ he continues, and Bokuto’s hands catch fire at the same time horror throws shadows across Kuroo’s features.  _ “So I may - “ _

 

“No!” Kuroo launches himself across the room, inky wings extended. His wings are just barely touching the wall on either side, and it’s a race against time, one Bokuto has no intention of losing.

 

_ “Rally,” _ the wards crack, splinter, and fall to the floor on either side of him. He rolls his wrists once, lips tugging up in a smile when the joints pop back into alignment. 

 

_ “To,” _ the flames around his hands blaze as bright as a wildfire, and begin to spread through the room. The archangel remains unaffected, along with the wooden chair he sits on. 

 

_ “Your,” _ Kuroo lets out a battle cry as he reaches his no longer restrained captive. He wraps a hand around Bokuto’s neck, but is met with a challenging glare. He shudders, but doesn’t let go.

 

_ “Side,” _ and the room explodes, launching Kuroo against the far way. The fire swells, bursting out around the archangel like a tidal wave. He stands, and the chair dissolves to ash from the heat of the room. Fire forms impenetrable armor around him, constructing an opaque helmet and an orange and gold breastplate as he stalks out the room and into the light of a foreign planet.

 

Red stone covers the terrain, clashing with the building being consumed with flames behind him. Black smoke billows out the the building, filling the air with the scent of sulfur. He collapses to the ground the second the building explodes, both from the shockwave and the sudden burst of power it required. But with it gone, he can force down the memories, and with them, all thoughts of the ex-guardian angel.

 

His armor melts off of him as he presses his forehead to the stone.

 

“Thank you, Kiyoko-sama, for the power you give me.” He murmurs, eyes growing heavy. “May I serve you, and only you, until the universe deems it time for my death.”

 

A faint breeze rolls across the planet, carrying black smoke with it.

 

_ “Keep running. Do not rest yet, my child. The journey ahead of you is still long.” _

 

Power resurges in his limbs, electrocuting the silver in his veins. There’s a star above him, young and fiery, so unlike the one he has suppose to vanquish. He can follow an order from his commander; he can run.

 

His wings are thinning, missing the majority of his secondary feathers, but he grits his teeth and throws himself into the sky. Bokuto is shaky at first, but Kiyoko’s blessing still flows through him, allowing him to soar. It takes him far too long to reach the outer edge of the planet’s atmosphere, but once he reaches it, his atoms phase out, erasing his wounds as he flies, wings flapping as quickly as they can, coasting on solar winds when he can. 

 

Stars and planets streak past him, blurring until they’re are only solitary white lines. He keeps flying mindlessly, his wings carrying him somewhere far away, to a hopefully safe planet until he would be able to fully heal. 

 

And then there’s a planet before him, calling him, pulling him along with its gravity. As soon as he processes the deep blue oceans, dark with midnight skies, he’s falling through clouds, downy and secondary feathers being plucked free by wind. They scatter in the wind around him, spiraling through the air with Bokuto as he free falls.

 

_ “This is up to you now. Use your chance wisely.” _

 

The ground is approaching far too quickly, but he can’t stop as he loses even more feathers. A green field is rushing to meet him, before he slams into it, dirt piling up on either side of him as he slides to a stop. 

 

_ “You’ve done well, my child. Sleep now, and the morning will bring fresh light and hope.” _

 

He blinks hazily up at the stars, whispering a faint  _ thank you, Kiyoko-sama,  _ before passing out as all his injuries resurface.

  
...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter rundown: Bokuto has been imprisoned by Kuroo, who is holding him hostage on a distant planet, where he is being tortured by Kuroo. However, he prays to Kiyoko and receives her blessing and escapes. 
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. Requests are welcome at my [tumblr](http://mother-iwa-chan.tumblr.com/)


	4. messiah.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also known as the pulling teeth chapter because I started this literally 2 weeks ago and I just finished so rip casey's hands bro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was going to be chapter 3 but nah Bokuto got to suffer instead. Also, some updates to the tags so pay attention to that.

He’s standing before the board, talking quietly. He knows they can barely hear him; he’s close enough to make out a few of the words they write down:  _ clear knowledge on his thesis; can you hear him? I can’t; clearer voice is necessary. _

“That, combined with the recent massive upscale in stars exploding before they reach the end of their life cycle - “

But, Keiji won’t speak up, even now, as he presents his doctoral thesis. This is what he wants more than anything - a career in astrophysics. And this is what he’s not getting, as he reaches his second to last note card.

“All of this is connected by a root cause, which - “

_ Come on, come on. Speak up. Why can’t you? Just a bit, just a bit, just a bit. Not even an entire decimal, just let them hear your words so the last eight years of school weren’t pointless. Your name - Akaashi Keiji - on a diploma. Mother will smile; Father will be proud. Come on, don’t waste four year of research and a lifetime of debt because you were quiet. Come on, come on, COME ON! _

“Stars as close as three trillion light years away are dying at an increasingly alarming rate, and the area where this is takes place is only expanding. Due to this - “

_ Ah, that’s better. There’s lady, one with graying hair, wrinkles at the creases of her eyes, and a red button up underneath a black blazer, and she’s smiling now, nodding ever so slightly as she jots down notes. We are almost to the end; you can make it. _

“At this rate of growth, our sun could be dead far sooner than it should, in only three hundred years.” 

 

_ You’re done. It’s okay, it’s all okay. Breathe, it’s over now. Breathe, you’ve won. _

 

…

 

There’s stars above him here, in a field miles outside of Tokyo.

 

Keiji drums his fingertips against the hood of his car, still warm from when the engine was running. His thesis - two hundred pages of shredded astrophysics - is tossed on the back seat. Keiji had considered burning it the moment he walked out of the room, already miles away from the minds of the board. Keiji doesn’t mind, not really, except that he  _ does _ . He spent months on it, working nonstop. He wanted them to care, dammit, not smile and laugh with each other as he exited the room.

 

But the stars are calming, keeping him tied to the ground. Even if some of them are dead, their light is still here, shining over Keiji. 

 

…

 

He goes to the field more often, once he graduates from grad school. His internship is nine to five o’clock, leaving him with plenty of time for stargazing. 

 

The stars are constant enough, bright enough, for Keiji to focus on them, along with the plastic glow-in-the-dark ones glued to his ceiling, instead on his research, and the impending doom of this solar system’s star. He won’t live to see the end, and even if he did live for three hundred more years, the Earth would still revolve endless like around the sun. 

 

(Keiji was never gifted at math. Keiji didn’t understand the point of checking his work, or even math in general. He only did it the first time for the stars, and now there wasn't even that. His parents were right when they said he would go nowhere in the field of astrophysics, and maybe he should have listened before he had to pick up a McDonald’s application.) 

 

(The pay wasn’t high, barely above minimum wage, but it got him out of his parents house after graduation.)

 

(Keiji still had his stars, and that’s all that really mattered.)

 

…

 

It’s midnight; far later than Keiji would normally stay in the field. Spring’s come and gone, leaving wildflowers in its wake. He’s sitting on the grass, slightly damp from an earlier storm. There’s a pile of daffodils in his lap, which he absently mindedly strips of petals one by one. He can’t make very much out in the odd half light of the witching hour, but the motion requires little to no hand-eye coordination.

 

He flops back in the grass, soft under his head. He stares at the stars until his eyes fog over and his breathing evens out, growing closer to sleep. Sleeping out here, on the ground, surrounded with bugs, probably isn’t the best thing Keiji has ever decided to do, but he’s too sleepy now. Driving home for two hours to the city and then in Tokyo traffic wouldn’t be a good idea, either. Staying in the field is the lesser of two evils.

 

He breathes slowly, his eyes flickering shut, leaving the sky looking hazy. His limbs feel heavy. Sleep is near, and Keiji will no longer fight it.

 

...

 

Something streaks across the sky; a comet. That wakes Keiji up, but not enough for him to sit up. He runs numbers in his head: the date; recorded comets; the likelihood of seeing a comet in his current location.

 

_ That  _ wakes him up, and he scrambles to his feet, eyes never once leaving the comet. He shouldn’t be seeing this, not now, anyway. It’s too bright, coming in too fast and too hot. The intensity of its tail keeps growing, stretching out further behind it. 

 

_ That comet could kiss this field,  _ Keiji thinks for a second, still drowsy, before he realizes how true that is. 

 

It is lighting the sky up like the sun now, burning bright and growing closer to the ground with every passing second. 

 

“Fuck,” he murmurs the second the comet hits a tree. Then the shockwave hits him like a bullet, leaving him sprawling on his ass. For a millisecond, it’s like staring directly into the sun, but suddenly it’s like every single light particle in existence has been sucked into the wreckage of a hackberry tree. “Fuck.”

 

Keiji isn’t sure was drives him to get up and run to the pit the comet left, but he is, tripping over his feet in his haste. Soon, he’s standing on the lip of the hole, staring down into the hole where the hackberry tree used to be. He can’t make out much; the black smoke is too dense. But there’s a writhing mass at the bottom of the pit, and it looks, strangely enough, distinctly like a man.

 

Keiji knew he would regret it the moment he took the first step, but he tosses away his inhibitions, and places his right foot into the thick coat of ash lining the sides of the pit. He slips a bit, but makes it down to the bottom without incident. 

 

The smoke and upset ash rips cough after cough out of Keiji, makes his eyes water until all he can see is tears. But there’s  _ someone  _ down here, and Keiji can’t just leave. It’s becoming gradually easier to see as starlight leaks through the smoke.

 

“Hello?” The words come out rough from excessive coughing, but he continues anyway. “Are you okay?”

 

“Kuroo?” The voice is broken, and wet. Keiji follows it blindly, eventually collapsing to his knees when he reaches the man. There’s smoke rippling off his skin, giving off the impression that he is the catalyst of the comet.

 

He reaches out, fingertips brushing over the man’s shoulder, before jerking back. He’s burning hot, and his skin is red with burns and lacerations. There’s even a hint of silver, but Keiji can’t pick up on the source.

 

“No, I’m - “

 

“Good,” the man sighs, lifting a limp hand to touch Keiji’s knee. “Good.”

 

…

 

Getting the man into his car probably was another choice Keiji would come to regret. Silver smears on his clothes as he hauled the man out of the pit. Climbing out was far harder than getting in had been, and the stranger isn’t helping either, all dead weight in Keiji’s arms. But they make it out eventually, and Keiji is no longer in danger of falling asleep behind the wheel with the amount of adrenaline flooding his veins. 

 

…

 

It hits Keiji all at once as he pulls up by the curb in front of his apartment building. There’s a man, a man that had smoke coming off his skin like he was dry ice, asleep on his backseat. There’s a crater from a comet in the middle of his favorite field, and he doesn’t know what to think about it.

 

Rain, glowing red with the lights of Tokyo’s nightlife, slides down his window. He focuses on one of the drops as he tries to steady his breathing.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers one last time, banging his head against the steering wheel, before exiting his car. “I can do this.”


	5. resurrection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, and it's so short, and it's so shit. I know I could have added more, but I had already taken so long and I couldn't get the words out. I'm on summer break now, and I think this might have just been leftover exam stress. I'm focusing on Ushiten Week right now, and keeping up with the fics that everyone is posting, but I'll try my best to update more consistently. 
> 
> Also, please comment/leave kudos. I need more validation so this fic doesn't start collecting any more dust.

When Bokuto wakes, his skin feels too tight. He doesn’t move at first; can’t, with the way material surrounds him and binds his arms close to his chest. But, he does open his eyes, only to immediately shut them. The room he’s in is unrecognizable and bright, cluttered with lamps and papers in the brief moments he saw it. 

 

He’s missing his wings, he realizes faintly, but he can’t remember cloaking them. All he can remember is setting that planet ablaze and  _ flying,  _ leaving the wreckage behind like a hurricane.

 

“Are you awake yet?” The couch shifts. Bokuto opens his eyes, wincing at the sudden light exposure, but manages to keep them open this time. There’s a hand on Bokuto’s shin, warm through the weight of the blankets. “You’ve been sleeping all day; it’s almost six.”

 

It takes a few long moments for him to translate the words spoken to him, too long, really. He hasn’t been on a planet with sentient lifeforms in eons, and his brain is still hazy from… _ whatever  _ had happened to lead up to this.

 

“Mmm,” he replies, still not ready to form words. Instead, he focuses on the man sitting at the foot of the couch. His dewy skin almost seems to glow like star light in the small room, illuminated by a small metal box in his hands. Bokuto searches for the name of the object, but he can’t find it; he’s not certain the last time he talked to anyone besides an angel, or if he has ever even been to this planet before. He lies weakly on the couch for a few moments, staring at the object and the stranger’s thin fingers, simply breathing, growing accustomed to the atmosphere.  

 

“Are you okay?” Bokuto’s shoulders jerk. The man is staring at him, a puzzled look covering his face. “You’ve been passed out for a while. I thought you died a few times…” 

 

“I’m sorry.” The words weigh heavy on the archangel’s tongue; the sounds foreign and thick. Bokuto struggles to sit up for a moment, but pain sends electric shocks through his arms and spine.

 

“You should stay - “ the man begins, pressing a warm hand against the angel’s chest.

 

Bokuto smiles, but knows it is more akin to a grimace. “I’m fine,” he replies. “But, ah, can you tell me where I am?” He’s aware of how awkward a question it will be for the black-haired man to answer, but he needs to know. His surroundings are vastly different from Coelum, where he spends most of his free time. And, it’s certainly not the planet Kuroo had held him hostage on. 

 

“Just outside of Tokyo, in my apartment.” He continues after Bokuto tilts his head to the side, clearly confused. “Japan? Just how hard did you hit your head?”

 

“Oh,” Bokuto sighs, trying to hide how much he was reeling from the sudden wealth of knowledge that had hit him all at once.

 

_ Japan: an island, 1,892 miles from the mainland, filled with volcanoes. First sentient life: -40,000 years ago. Located in the Laticim system. Peaceful; no current orders for demolition. Does not pose a significant threat to Coelum.  _

 

“Oh,” Bokuto says again. “What’s your name, then?”

 

“Akaashi. It’s Akaashi Keiji.” The man pauses for a moment. “Yours?”

 

“Bokuto,” the archangel replies, smiling slightly. 

 

“Really?” Akaashi laughs quietly. “You look more like a Koutarou.” 

 

After that, they’re silent until the man stands and leaves the room.

 

…

 

A few hours and one nap later, Akaashi hands the archangel a towel and directs him to the shower. As the water heats up, Bokuto slowly strips out of his clothes. They leave ashy imprints on his skin. 

 

The air fills with steam, leaving a hazy film on the mirror. It’s better, Bokuto decides, if he can’t see his own reflection clearly. All he can make out is a blurry abstraction oh his features - broad, tan shoulders, spiky black and white hair. Silver blood still covers his chest in patches.

 

Eventually, the water grows warm enough for him to bathe. He steps inside, pulling the curtain shut, and immediately, the once clear water becomes filthy with dirt and blood. He scrubs himself raw with a bar of soap. It stings, faintly, his skin still covered with small lacerations from Kuroo. Bokuto had believed them to be gone sooner than now, like his injuries from colliding with this planet, but he suspects that it had something to do with the angel blade Kuroo had been wielding. His thoughts drift as he combs his fingers through his hair. It’s stiff with blood. Bokuto scratches at his scalp, scraping away clumps of silver. 

 

Soon enough, the archangel is clean. He wraps the towel, one which is soft and maroon, around his shoulders, and uses the bottom edges to dry his hair. He drops the towel once he’s dry, and looks at himself in the mirror. The fog was cleared for the most part, now.

 

His wings emerge without a single thought. They are too large for the small bathroom, but the way they curl in on themselves now is infinitely less painful than when Kuroo has plucked out downy feathers, or the days when they had been held tightly to his back so the man,  _ Akaashi,  _ wouldn’t see. For the most part, his feathers have grown back. The secondaries are still sparse in a few places, but the tawny feathers are coming back nicely. 

 

It hurts, but he retracts them. They fold into his back, along his spine, before melting into his skin. A few light brown feathers drift slowly to the floor, but Bokuto simply ignores them. Feathers wouldn’t be the strangest thing Akaashi would’ve seen from him, not after he flew himself straight into a tree.

 

_ “Koutarou,”  _ he whispers softly. He likes the name. 


	6. vayikra.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hahaha you don't want to see my writing notes and no plot happened overall but that's okay! there's domestic fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so extra long chapter bc of the lack of updates. it feels kinda crackish since Akaashi works at a Hooters but there's also fluff and Oikawa 
> 
> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ok and I know I promised this so many times and said that it would be sooner than it was, but writing this and making it the way I want is really hard and writing chapters is so weird for me after writing one shots for ages when I could just change whatever before I posted (like why does Bokuto use he/him pronouns?? why not they/them?? why not ey/em??) 
> 
> but anyway I'm going to a concert on the 29 which I keep forgetting about and then I'm going on a road trip almost directly after and then I'm doing hqbb which is going to be great with trans Hinata so I'll try to get one more chapter out before then
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **ALSO THERE IS A PANIC ATTACK IT'S NOT DETAILED BUT IMPLIED, RIGHT AFTER THE CONVO WITH OIKAWA**

Soft music filters into the kitchen as Keiji washes the dishes. It’s playing in the living room, barely loud enough for him to hear clearly over the rushing of water. It’s some pre-made playlist on Spotify, a few bands he’s never heard of in a genre he’s never listened to, but it’s something to fill the air.

 

The chore should not take long - Keiji doesn’t like to allow dishes to pile up in the sink, and his new houseguest doesn’t eat, no matter how much prompting is supplied by Keiji - but he has a hard time concentrating on the mindless task. He finds himself pouring far more dish soap than necessary onto the sponge more than once.

 

Instead, he finds himself thinking about Bokuto, the strange man sleeping on his couch. He’s barely been in the apartment for two days, three, if one were to count the time he spent passed out after he first arrived.

 

He was...strange, to say the least, in more ways than one. When Keiji first applied Neosporin to one of the many large gashes on Bokuto’s arm, the wounds had been glistening silver and packed with dirt from his collision. 

 

Keiji had expected the man to flinch when he applied the antibiotic cream like most would, but instead, he remained unmoving. Even once Keiji finished slapping on a few bandages, Bokuto remained frozen, as if in a trance. 

 

Keiji had watched him for a moment, sat on the couch with the man’s head in his lap, before reaching over to grab the washcloth from the side table. He wiped away the few dirt smudges that lingered on the man’s jaw, before lifting him to deposit his head on a pillow. 

 

He considers staying on the couch for far longer than he should. He shouldn’t -  _ can’t  _ \- develop schoolgirl feelings for a complete stranger he let into his apartment for some reason still unknown to him. It’s not even like it’s a one night stand where the sex was exceptional; Bokuto is just some guy who  _ crashed into a tree,  _ and not in anyway the average sense _.  _

 

Keiji still needs an explanation for it, and he doubts his quantum physics professor from college would approve of him sleeping with his test subject. Not that Keiji wants to, of course. If Keiji is anything, it’s professional. 

 

From what Keiji could tell, he had stayed like that until close to three AM, when he finally stood and walked around the living room. Keiji could hear him from his bedroom, and tried his hardest to sleep through the seemingly one-sided conversation. 

 

…

 

_ “I don’t know where I am, Kiyoko-sama.” _

 

_ Pause. _

 

_ “He -  Akaashi, the man who found me - said something about Tokyo.” _

 

_ Pause, the thump of someone landing heavily on the couch.  _

 

_ “No, my wings are too damaged. Minor Necrosis, it’s going to take a while to heal.” _

 

_ Pause, a sharp breath, loud enough to be heard through the wall. _

 

_ “Really? He was here? And Oikawa? Okay, I’ll find him.” _

 

_ Pause. _

 

_ “Of course, Kiyoko-sama.” _

 

...

 

Bokuto is gone in the morning. The blankets are folded neatly, placed carefully on the end of the sofa. He tosses them in the hamper to be washed whenever he can next make it to the laundromat, before heading to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. 

 

He stops when he sees the paper stuck to the machine. It’s from the pad of sticky notes he keeps on a magnet attached the fridge, a gag gift with owl embellishments. For the most part, it stays hidden under printed out recipes, so Keiji is surprised to see it in use. He starts the machine, sticks the coffee pot under the dispenser and begins to read it.

 

_ ‘Keiji -  _

 

_ I called a friend last night, and she knows someone in the city I can stay with. Thanks for letting me stay, it was really kind of you.  _

 

_ Who knows, I might run into you at some point in the future. If not, I had fun these last few days. _

__

_-Kentarou’_

 

He tapes the note back to the coffee machine, smoothes down the edges. He jumps when the machine dings, signaling that it had finished brewing. He pours himself a mug quickly and downs it even faster, black and hot, burning his tongue and throat. 

 

“Okay,” he sighs, smacking his mug down on the countertop as hard as possible without it breaking. He has work to go to, and work does not involve angsting over strangers.

 

...

 

He stands in the middle of the bathroom, hair dripping wet, a towel clutched around his waist.

 

There’s a bird feather in his hand, tawny and far larger than the primaries that cover the pigeons of Tokyo. As far as Keiji is aware, no birds have busted into his apartment, and he’s not even positive of the last time he opened one of the windows. 

 

More of the feathers, each varying shades of light and dark brown, are scattered around the small tiled room. But, strangest of all, he finds countless feathers stuck in a blue towel.

 

A blue towel Keiji is almost certain he had set out for Bokuto.

 

…

 

Kohona shoves a basket of fries into Keiji’s hands, along with a few pints of beer. “Table twenty, go. There’re hot customers and we're not paid enough to deal with them when they’re angry.” 

 

Keiji doesn’t reply, just nods, before stepping onto the floor. A few patrons bump into him on the way to table twenty, tucked away in a back corner, but he manages to keep the tray high enough that none of the drinks spill.

 

By the time Keiji arrives at table twenty, he hates his job, like he does every day he works. He’s only been on the clock for fifteen minutes, and he’s already looking for excuses to go home early. But, his fellowship at a lab in Tokyo doesn’t start for another week, and his rent isn’t going to pay itself, no matter how much he wishes it does.

 

He fixes on his trademark  _ I-love-working-at-Hooters!  _ grin. “Two draft beers, and a large order of chili cheese - “

 

“Akaashi?”

 

He jerks his head up, nearly dropping the fries. He doesn’t expect to see Bokuto sitting at table twenty, sitting with some guy who looks like he could be a model. Hell, Keiji didn’t expect to see the man  _ ever.  _

 

“Oh, hi.” The grin drops from his face. He feels strangely exposed in his uniform - a tight white tank top, emblazoned with the company logo - a way he hasn’t felt since his first week on the job, back when he was a freshie at Keidai. 

 

And he’s thinking of the bird's feathers, and the one-sided three AM phone calls when Keiji is certain Bokuto didn’t have a cell on him at the time of the crash or in the following days recuperating in Keiji’s house. Keiji is stuck on sudden disappearances and even more sudden reappearances. And, strangest of all, he’s thinking of how empty his apartment had felt in the morning, with neatly folded blankets on the couch and owl notes on the coffee machine.

 

“Oh, you work here?” Bokuto asks, smiling. And that smile, it makes Keiji think of how Bokuto watched him one morning, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee as Keiji vacuumed the flat. An odd sort of wonder had clouded Bokuto’s features until he was transfixed on the black haired man.

 

Keiji doesn’t have time for these thoughts. Kohona will be waiting for him with the next set of orders, and the Hooters waiting system waits for no man. And yet, he can’t find it in him to walk away.

 

“Yeah,” Akaashi nods. “Since freshman year.”

 

He really needs to get back to the bar.

 

“That’s so cool! Are the uniforms free for employees? I love them so much. Owls are the coolest, aren’t they? That’s why you had the notepad with owls, right? They’re just so awesome, how they can fly and rip tiny animals to shreds, and - “

 

“Bokuto, I’m sure Akaashi has work to get to. Isn’t that right?” Bokuto’s companion says, smiling as well. But, it doesn’t feel sweet and genuine like Bokuto’s, but rather acidic, biting like rock salt. “I’m Oikawa, by the way. Oikawa Tooru, a friend from work. Bokuto here is staying with me.”

 

“Oh,” Bokuto and Keiji say at the same time. The air feels too thin, like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. There’s a ringing sound in Keiji’s ears, and it keeps getting louder the longer Oikawa smiles at him. 

 

“It - it was nice seeing you, Bokuto.” Keiji steps back from the table, bumping into a patron. “I need to go.” He runs back to the kitchen before either Bokuto or the patron can cause a fuss. 

 

His breath is coming too fast, but the ringing in his ears has quieted immensely. But it still feels like all too much, like he’s standing in the middle of a blizzard in only his Hooters uniform. It’s like he’s drowning in snow, like it is filling his lungs with every breath instead of oxygen.

 

He knows exactly what it is, even if normal conversations with acquaintances haven’t caused an attack in years. Most recently, it’s just professors and seminars when he had to present, but customers and almost friends had never been a problem. And Bokuto, Bokuto was the easiest person around for Keiji to communicate to. 

 

Keiji tries to keep breathing.

 

…

 

Kohona finds him fifteen minutes later, tucked away in a storage room with his head between his knees. He gets sent home early with a half-hidden frown and a half felt  _ get well soon. _

 

Keiji pretends he doesn’t mind.

 

…

 

He wakes up early the next morning to pounding on his door. He almost sleeps through it, mistaking it first for his phone vibrating under his pillow, and then for his neighbor’s door. It’s not until said neighbor pounds on Keiji’s wall that he realizes that it’s his door.

 

He stands on shaky legs and shoves his feet into slippers, trailing his duvet behind him. He’s still feeling a bit weak from his anxiety attack at work, even though he fell asleep almost as soon as he got home and stripped out of his Hooters top.

 

He yanks open the door, his frown evident on his face.

 

“Akaashi!” Keiji winces at the loud noise, and the once again when Bokuto hugs him tightly, lifting his feet up off the ground slightly. It’s kinda awkward, with Bokuto’s arms wrapped around Keiji’s midsection, and Keiji in only some ratty boxers and his duvet he bought back in high school. “I got worried when you left early, and I didn’t know if it was my fault, and I wanted to come check on you last night, but Oikawa said you were probably sick so I shouldn’t come until later, and I know it’s still early but had to make sure you were okay!”

 

“Can you put me down?” 

 

Keiji didn’t have nearly enough caffeine in his system to deal with Bokuto right now.

 

…

 

Keiji’s head is resting against the counter, waiting for the coffee machine to finish. The owl sticky note is still stuck on the appliance. Keiji has elected to ignore it for the time being.

 

Bokuto is sitting at the table, munching happily on some junk food Keiji had managed to scrounge up from the depths of his pantry. 

 

He doesn’t move until the coffee pot dings. He fetches a mug from the cabinet above the sink, along with the carton of milk. His tongue feels fuzzy from being burned the day before, and even if he prefers his coffee black, he’s too tired to wait for it to cool down naturally.

 

He sits across from Bokuto. The table isn’t very wide; barely large enough to fit more than one person, but it’s the largest that would fit in his apartment. Keiji traces the rim of his cup, taking small sips occasionally

 

Bokuto is the first to break the silence. “Are you feeling better?” he asks. “You didn’t say what was wrong earlier.”

 

“Oh you know, just a bit under the weather. Nothing major.” 

 

“You seemed fine when - “

 

“It’s nothing, Bokuto,” Keiji says, sharply. He regrets it instantly when Bokuto flinches. “Sorry,” he says, far quieter this time. “It’s just...stress, I guess. There’s no reason to worry. I start my fellowship next week, so I’m just a bit panicky about that.”

 

“It’s fine!” Bokuto replies, back to his cheerful self. “I totally get stress. Like my job…” he trails off, suddenly very interested in the candy wrappers before him.

 

“Your job?” Keiji tilts his head. “Didn’t Oikawa-kun mention something about you working together? Is he the person you’re staying with?”

 

“Mhm, he’s okay. He’s mostly away with his partner, though, so it’s usually just me. Iwaizumi-kun and he travel for work a lot.”

 

“What do you do?”

 

Bokuto doesn’t reply for a while, and Keiji almost thinks he’s overstepped the tentative trust between them. “Private security, mostly. It’s kind of complicated. I’ve been doing it for as long as I remember,” Bokuto says, locking up from his hands to stare Keiji dead in the eyes. “It’s rather cutthroat. I’ve been thinking about getting out for a while.”

 

“Then why don’t you?”

 

“My boss counts on me. There’s been some stuff happening lately, and she knows I’ll always do what I believe is best for the Coel -  _ company.” _

 

Keiji is getting the distinct impression he’s being lied to, but he just nods. Work isn’t the biggest thing to lie about, and Bokuto doesn’t seem like the kind to get mixed up in a gang. 

 

Instead, he takes a leap, and grips the handle of his mug a little tighter. “Do you want to stay a little longer? To make sure you’re one hundred percent better, of course.”

 

“Yeah!” Bokuto grins hugely. “I’d love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Requests are welcome at my [tumblr](http://mother-iwa-chan.tumblr.com/)
> 
> OK SO THE LAST CHAPTER (210) OH MY GOD LIKE WHO CARES ABOUT THE PLOT THE LAST PAGE WAS USHITEN AF LIKE THIS COULD LEAD TO MORE OF MY OTP I SCREAMED


	7. ophanim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed [Rey](http://kxrasuno.tumblr.com/)
> 
> OK SO TW FOR VIOLENCE: 'run, keiji' TO 'the guardian angel stands'
> 
> also, 2 chapters after this, and maybe a kuroken oneshot. I don't know when the next update will be, because I'm going to a concert on the 29, and then leaving for a trip on the 1 of july and won't get back until the 13, and I'll be doing hqbb right after. see you when I see you ~

They’re back in that field, just outside of Tokyo, of all places. The two of them are laying on the roof of Akaashi’s car, watching the clouds slowly drift across the sky. This planet, Earth, didn’t feel so foreign to him as if first had, when he was delirious and bloodsoaked, smoke rolling off his skin, in the pit twenty feet to his left. 

 

He had seen it when Akaashi had first parked his car in the meadow. Grass was beginning to grow down the sloping sides, but the tree still remained, half of it blown out with the roots exposed along the side of the pit. 

 

Watching the pit - and in some circumstances, watching Akaashi - feels like he’s standing at the edge of the universe, or in one of Coelum’s massive bay windows. And it makes sense to him almost, why Kuroo spent so much time down here, with the human under his care. 

 

It was a nice planet, far warmer than the cold expanses of space. Even when Bokuto was flying through the universe, nothing more than a few light photons, the darkness would always seem to slip into his very being. But this, down here, next to Akaashi under the afternoon sun, he felt warmer than had ever felt before. 

 

He shoves the thought down quickly. Although he may be an archangel, and with that, have certain freedoms Kuroo didn’t, he is prohibited from forging any and all relations with sentient lifeforms. And he wouldn’t be like Kuroo with his human boy, wouldn’t let down Kiyoko-sama like that. But lying here, with Akaashi beside him, couldn’t hurt, right?

 

“That cloud looks like a bird,” Akaashi says, the first phrase in what feels like hours, although Bokuto knows they haven’t been here for anywhere near that long. “Like a sparrow.”

 

Images of a creature with wings, similar to his in color, rush through his mind, along with random tidbits of knowledge. Although he does not see the similarities, he nods anyway. 

 

He doesn’t understand this - cloud gazing. They’re just clouds to him, water particles suspended thousands of feet above his head. He does not see animals and trees. But, he is content to lay here, on top of Akaashi’s car, for as long as the man wishes to do so.

 

Bokuto finds him drifting off. His mind is becoming lax, limbs heavy. It’s a luxury he hasn’t had time for in millenia. When angels sleep, they’re gone long enough that the galaxy they wake to is not the one they fell asleep in. he doesn’t have time, with the rate galactic politics has been shifting lately, and then with everything that happened with Kuroo, and finally, Akaashi. But the world seems to move slower here, just outside of Tokyo. It’s something about the atmosphere, something that leaves him drowsy and exhausted. 

 

Life is easier here, beside Akaashi, when he’s light years away from the closest battle between stars and angels. Kiyoko-sama led him here, so Bokuto prays that it’s not all bad.

 

“Do you want to explain the bird feathers in my bathroom?” Akaashi’s question catches him off guard, and he almost flinches hard enough to make himself roll off the car.

 

“Feathers…” Bokuto says, faintly. He chooses to evade the question. “Well, I can’t say why there are  _ bird  _ feathers in your bathroom.”  _ But I can explain angel feathers. _

 

“Mhm.” Akaashi sits up, before jumping off the roof. He opens the driver side door, and looks up at Bokuto one last time. “You might want to change that, since I’m planning on letting you into my apartment again, Koutarou.”

 

…

 

They’re sitting on the couch, watching some mindless show that was on the first channel they came to. Bokuto doesn’t understand the plot; there're too many cultural references that he has yet to grasp. But, they make Akaashi laugh and smile, which makes the archangel smile as well.

 

Akaashi’s hand is close to his, and every time he shifts his hand just a bit to the left, his pinky just brushes against Akaashi’s. Akaashi’s skin is warm, and Bokuto can’t help but continue to touch it. 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Bokuto looks up at the human. Akaashi’s brow is furrowed, and he appears on certain. Bokuto yanks his hand back, and clenches it into a fist in his lap.

 

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m fine.”

 

Akaashi places his right hand on Bokuto’s shoulder, and the angel has to hold in the scream that threatens to burst out of his throat. Akaashi’s hands are just  _ so warm.  _ Bokuto has to remind himself to fake his intake of oxygen.

 

Akaashi’s hand moves, until it is cupping Bokuto’s chin. His hands are soft as well, it would seem. Slowly, ever so slowly, Akaashi turns Bokuto’s head until Bokuto has no choice but to face him. He’s frowning, the angel realizes, and he can’t help but blame himself for Akaashi’s expression. 

 

“Are you positive?”

 

Bokuto nods, not trusting himself to speak.

 

“Koutarou,” Akaashi sighs, and before Bokuto is able to react, Akaashi’s mouth is pressed up against his. He freezes, unsure of what to do as Akaashi’s hand slides from his jaw and into his hair. Bokuto’s entire being, every single particle in this corporeal form, have shrunk down until they are only in his lips, right along the line of flesh where they meet Akaashi. And Bokuto still doesn’t know what to do, with Akaashi pulls back a half second later, a faint smile on his face.

 

“I don’t know what that was,” Bokuto says, trying to understand why his face feels warm, “But I would like to do it again.”

 

“I guess I’ll just have to teach you, then.”

 

…

 

Oikawa watches him from against the table, and Bokuto stares back. He’s never particularly liked the ophanim, but he’s fought beside Oikawa for long enough to know to not voice his opinion. The ophanim is, after all, one of Kiyoko-sama’s favorites, and the kindness their leader has extended to Bokuto recently will mean little if he falls out of Oikawa’s favor. 

 

“You’re shaking,” Oikawa says, with the slightest hint of a smile. It’s similar to how Oikawa had looked the night before at the owl restaurant, and Bokuto chooses to not question it. The Ophanim have never been known to be forgiving. “Is it because you know you have betrayed Coelum?” 

 

Bokuto doesn’t know how to respond to such accusations. He has always been loyal, even as Kuroo turned his back on the angels, even as Kuroo sought to destroy him. 

 

“Do not worry, Archangel. It is below my station to report such trivialities. Besides, Kiyoko-sama has taken a liking to you, for some reason. This is impossible for her to not notice, so she must not care.”

 

Bokuto nods, clenching his fists beneath the table top. 

 

“Do you understand what this means, Bokuto?” Oikawa leans across the table, lifting his wings until the archangel feels that they’re about to crush him. “It means, if you make the slightest mistake and fall out of favor, you’ll end up exactly like your dear friend Kuroo, and every worthless guardian angel before him.”

 

Hours later, when the words replay in his head unceasingly, he swallows hard and tells himself it was not a threat.

 

…

 

Papers are spread out across the couch and coffee table when Akaashi lets him inside his apartment. It’s hard for him to read the kana upside down, but he can make out a few words - stars and black holes, alongside calculations he’s been running for eons.

 

“What’s this?” 

 

“Oh,” Akaashi blushes, and gathers the papers into a semi-neat pile. “It’s fellowship stuff and my thesis. Nothing important.”

 

“Can I look at it?”

 

“Sure,” Akaashi, all but shoving the papers into Bokuto’s hands. “Although, you probably won’t understand any of it.”

 

He sits on the couch, and reads over all of it. He understands it, for the most part. However, some of the terminology does confuse him. If anything, he breezes through the calculations and found minute errors with ease.

 

“It wouldn't require this much energy,” the archangel finally says, a few minutes later. Akaashi looks up from his phone, eyes crinkled.

 

“First of all, with the mass of the star - “

 

“If it’s a supernova, it’s unstable enough that it wouldn’t need even half of what you hypothesized,” argues Bokuto. “You would need that much for a star halfway through its lifespan, but you’re not talking about that.”

 

“How do you have any idea how to do that? These numbers took me months.”

 

“Oh, you know, work.”

 

…

 

Wind whips through the open windows as they cruise down the highway. Bokuto hasn’t seen another car for miles, and the only noise is from some alternative rock station playing on the radio. 

 

He can see a faint smile on Akaashi’s -  _ Keiji’s  _ \- face, and although it should make him happy, and it  _ does, _ he can’t ignore the feeling of slight apprehension low in his stomach. It has been there since he left Oikawa’s apartment, leaving him feeling like he swallowed pound upon pound of lead. He can’t ignore it.

 

…

 

It begins when he feels feathers start to prickle along his spine. He tries to repress the urge to expose his wings, but pressure keeps building up until he’s biting his lip, drawing silver blood, in an attempt to keep them concealed. 

 

Next comes the ringing in his ears. Or, not truly ringing, but the sound of one million bees, with a repeating loop of bass drops as a backdrop. Soon, he can barely hear the radio playing, and he holds in the question on the tip of his tongue:  _ ‘did you turn the music off?’ _

 

Then, comes the vibrations in his chest. He’s being summoned, and the pressure forcing out his wings comes hurtling back with a brand new wave of energy. He clenches his fist, and his nails, coated in angelic steel, embed themselves in his palms. 

 

“Are you okay, Koutarou?” he barely hears Akaashi ask.

 

“Pull over,” he gasps, and launches himself out of the car before it fully comes to a stop.

 

There’s trees lining the road. He ducks under their low hanging branches and trips over roots, following the call. It’s addicting and he can’t ignore it, even as the trees grows darker with every foot he walks. The further into the trees he goes, the fainter Akaashi’s voice grows, but he’s fairly certain he heard the driver side door slam shut.

 

Soon, he finds himself in a clearing. It feels colder here, even with the sun shining powerfully overhead. And, in the middle of the clearing, stands Kuroo. 

 

“Hello, Bo. It’s been too long.” He smiles, and it looks as sharp as the blades he had with him on that destroyed planet. Kuroo’s wings are burned, missing half of their feathers with the bones bent are sickening angles. “Of course, I didn’t really care to see you after what you did to my wings.”

 

“What I did to your wings?” Bokuto scoffs. “Try, what you did to  _ me _ . We were friends, Kuroo. When did this lead to torture?” 

 

“You sided with the angels!” Kuroo roars, summoning his dagger. “You betrayed me!”

 

“I did my job! By Michael, you sound like a child.”

 

Suddenly, Bokuto can hear the rustling of leaves, and Akaashi enters the clearing beside him. Bokuto tries to hide the shock on his face from Kuroo.

 

“Here you are, Kou - “

 

“Leave,” Bokuto whispers, keeping his eyes trained on Kuroo. “Now.”

 

“Why - “

 

“Who’s this?” Kuroo asks, moving closer. He swings his blade at his side as his wings trail through the grass and rocks. Akaashi’s eyes widen at the sight. “Did you find a human, Bo? That’s going to get him killed and you banished, you know.”

 

“What’s happening?” Akaashi’s hands are shaking, along with the rest of him. He takes a step back towards the trees, and Bokuto shifts until he blocks Akaashi from Kuroo’s view. 

 

“Wouldn’t that be a shame, Bo. I know  _ exactly  _ how painful that can be.” He smiles. “What’s your name, human? If you don’t tell me, I can force the words out of you.”

 

“Koutarou - “

 

“Run, Keiji!” Bokuto yells, calling for his sword as he launches himself towards Kuroo. 

 

Akaashi listens for half a second, eyes wide with terror, before Kuroo freezes him where he stands. 

 

“Keiji, is it? That’s a cute name,” Kuro says as he blocks Bokuto’s strike. “Not as cute as Kenma, of course, but he’s  _ dead  _ now, so I guess he doesn’t really count.”

 

Bokuto grits his teeth and swings again, but Kuroo parries him hit for hit, even landing a few of his own. Bokuto’s head is running wild, making him an easy target for the guardian angel’s blade. The angelic steel slows him even further. 

 

“So, Keiji, how much has our dear Bokuto told you?” When Akaashi doesn’t respond, he rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “Go on, you can speak now.”

 

“You - you have wings!” Akaashi sputters. 

 

_ “Not  _ the answer I was looking for, Keiji!” Kuroo roars, landing a solid hit on Bokuto’s outer arm, cutting deep into his bicep. Bokuto and Akaashi let out a scream at the same time.

 

“Sorry,” he whimpers. “He hasn’t told me anything. I met someone named Oikawa, who said he knew Bokuto from work. And, ah, someone names Kiyoko? Kiyoko-sama, I think. That’s all, really.”

 

“Leave him alone!” Bokuto yells, swinging his sword high above his head, aiming for Kuroo’s neck. But, before the steel is able to cut him, Kuroo grins and disappears, only to reappear a millisecond later, kicking Bokuto solidly in the back, sending him to his knees. 

 

“Oh, Bo. Why would I do that? You’ll heal soon enough, and hurting you physically will gain me nothing. But, do you know what would make everything better?” he asks, leaning over Bokuto;s shoulder. His knife rests lightly against the archangel’s throat. “Stabbing your little human, right in the heart, and forcing you to watch him bleed out and choke on his own blood. That would make me feel  _ so  _ much better.”

 

“Please,” Bokuto cries. “He’s not a part of this, Kuroo,  _ please.” _

 

“Neither was Kenma,” he snarls, stabbing his dagger through Bokuto’s calf and into the ground below, effectively pinning him there. Bokuto lets out a ragged scream. His throat burns and tears prick at the corner of his eyes.

 

The guardian angel stands and wipes his bloodstained hands on his jeans. He walks over to Akaashi, and Bokuto watches him struggle against Kuroo’s touch.

 

“We’ll have so much  _ fun  _ getting to know each other, Keiji.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two words: afterlife cats
> 
> tumblr: mother-iwa-chan


	8. unto dust shalt thou return.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so if you're still here, I'm sorry for the wait but thanks for sticking around. hope you enjoy it  
> full note at the end

He’s alone out here, in the clearing, surrounded by silver and crimson blood. A few feet away from him, the grass is sizzling where Kuroo had disappeared from, Keiji in tow. Blood is slowly flowing from his leg, the angel blade stopping him from healing.

 

 _“Kai,”_ he calls, sending the message deep into the universe. _“Kiyoko-sama.”_

 

Bokuto is alone. He is the only one in the universe.

 

…

 

When Kai finally arrives, Bokuto is lightheaded from blood loss. The guardian angel lets out a shout, collapsing to his knees beside Bokuto. His own angel blade falls onto the ground beside him.

 

“What happened?” Kai whispers, like he’s afraid of what the answer will be. His hand brushes against Bokuto, and it comes away covered in blood. “Is that - “

 

“An angel blade. Kuroo’s.” Bokuto doesn’t know what else to say. His friend, his _best_ friend, had done this to him. All because of a boy, a human, had died, and Bokuto had stayed with the angels. “I - I couldn’t take it out on my own.”

 

“Oh, of course.” Kai laughs nervously. He grips the hilt of the sword, and yanks upwards. It makes a sickening sound as it slides out, spraying more silver blood. Bokuto screams and arches his back; it feels like his very soul is being ripped out through his calf muscle. All of his senses are honed down to those scant few inches, just fire and ice. The bones of his wings shatter, and the fragments slice and lacerate him.

 

When he finally stops screaming and is able to breathe, he collapses to the ground, chest heaving.

 

 “Bokuto?” he hears Kai say, but whether it is a shout or a whisper, he’s unable to tell.

 

“Sleep, Bokuto.”

 

“Kiyo...Kiyoko-sama,” he pants, eyelids growing heavy.

 

_“Sleep.”_

 

He passes out soon after, with blood-sticky legs and broken wings.

 

…

 

He wakes in Coelum, tucked under a pile of blankets in the infirmary. Nekomata stands at the foot of the bed, with Kai a step behind, clutching his clipboard. As soon as Bokuto sits up, he begins to scribble down notes.

 

“How are you feeling?” the archangel asks. Bokuto blinks up at him sleepily.

 

“Sore,” he replies, throat burning with the effort of forcing out the word. “My wings - they - “

 

“The healers said you will be fine,” Kai says, smiling softly. “You just need time to rest and heal.”

 

Bokuto wants to argue - there isn’t time, there’s never time. Kuroo is out there, hell-bent on revenge. And with him - Akaashi, sweet Keiji, who has nothing to do with galactic warfare and a heartbroken angel’s vendetta. Keiji did nothing, he’s just a speck in the universe, caught in a supernova, evaporated in the shock wave.

 

“I will come check on you later,” Nekomata says a few seconds later, after an awkward pause. Kai looks at Bokuto one last time, eyes sympathetic. And with that, Bokuto is left alone.

 

Once they’re gone, and the few feathers they left behind when they disappeared have drifted to the floor, Bokuto heaves himself out of bed. The floor spins beneath his feet, leaving him dizzy and nauseous. He stands still trying to steady himself.

 

As soon as he moves, stretches his wings, he feels fire as the bones shift and rearrange. He sucks in his breath and grits his teeth. Whatever he feels now is nothing compared to what Keiji must be going through. Kuroo did worse in that desolate shack on a forgotten planet, soldiers from other galaxies have cut deeper.

 

Bokuto sucks it up, and begins the long trek back to the barracks.

 

…

 

Time passes on earth. Bokuto watches it all from high above, standing with his face pressed up against the glass of the massive bay windows. Kuroo and Keiji are down there, somewhere, far enough, hidden enough, for Bokuto to not be able to sense them. It leaves him frustrated and anxious, tugging at his wings and feathers.

 

Keiji - his Keiji - is innocent. This isn’t the boy - Kenma? - that Kuroo loved, this is Kuroo upset and angry. This is revenge on a bystander, violence on the audience, by an angel who either won’t or can’t move on. This is not the way of angels, but neither is love, no matter what the humans down below like to preach to their peers. They are machines of war, not peace. They weren’t born for this, no matter what their hearts and souls tell them.

 

But down there, on that small planet so far away, they have hopes and dreams. They believe in something, have _faith,_ even when all of the signs point to something completely different. Bokuto admires that about them, their resilience and strength. That’s the one thing he and Kuroo have in common now.

 

…

 

“What are you doing out of the medical wing?” Nekomata shouts, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

Bokuto doesn’t waste time or breath with a response, and continues to stare at Earth. It’s so far, so small, so full of life. Keiji is a needle in a haystack, even with how much Bokuto cares about him, the way his soul glows.

 

But Kuroo - angels, even fallen ones, shine for light years around. It’s just a matter of sorting out the guardian angels, and Bokuto will have him. The only problem? There’re thousands of angels on earth at any given moment, keeping their charges safe, and they are almost all identical to Kuroo. He needs time to sort through all of them, something he knows Keiji almost certainly doesn’t have.

 

“Bokuto, answer,” the other angel demands.

 

“Kuroo is still down there. He has a - a human with him. Kuroo is hurting him.” The entire time he speaks, he never turns away from the window. He _needs_ to find Keiji, needs to stop his pain. He can feel Keiji, down there, so far away. Why can’t he see his human?

 

“Then, the regiment will send down a guardian. That should be enough, correct?”

 

“It’s not,” Bokuto replies. When he touches the window pane, it is cold beneath his hands. Cold like space, cold like dead flesh. “Kuroo - he’ll just kill the angel and K - the human. Kuroo doesn’t care who dies, as long as it hurts Coelum.”

 

“You’re not in charge of the garrison, Bokuto. You shouldn’t be out of the medical wing, let alone making tactical decisions about a guardian angel you used to be friends with.” Nekomata sighs before continuing, “But, I do trust you. What would you rather do?”

 

“I want to kill him.”

 

“Even if you die as well?”

 

Finally, schooling his features, he turns around. “Even then.”

 

…

 

“He wants blood, and he’s not going to stop until gets it, sir.”

 

“I know. All he can do is give him the weapons so he doesn’t die. But-”

 

“But?”

 

“Bokuto is going in thirsting for blood. There is too much emotion. He won’t be able to concentrate, and no matter how many swords and daggers we give him, we can’t bring him back to his old self.”

 

“Do you think him killing Kuroo could achieve that?”

 

“I hope so.”

 

…

 

The sun is rising over Keiji, when Kai brings him weapons. Two angelic steel swords, twin blades cast together. A dagger is handed over as well. It nicks his palm, leaving liquid silver of the steel, and Kai only frowns, offers a heartfelt apology. It’s necessary, or, at least, Bokuto is always told that when he receives a new blade. Your weapon will only trust you once it knows you, knows your blood.

 

“Come back, Bokuto.” It is not a question, not a request. It’s the first time Kai has ever demanded something, making it all the more serious. But there’s something off, something in the universe and the war and the _air,_ like space itself has been corrupted by Kuroo.

 

Bokuto isn’t sure he’ll be able to come back from this.

 

He promises anyway.

 

…

 

_“Run, dear._

 

_Fly, dear._

 

_The stars will lead you to him. You can feel him, can’t you? Sense him, even from this distance._

 

_I can only help you so much, but Kuroo - he’s out there. His soul calls to you. It’s corrupted, destroyed. It is no longer the one you once knew. But it’s there; do you hear it? It’s waiting. You only have to answer, follow the sound. Can you do that, Bokuto?_

 

_Run, dear._

 

_Fly, dear._

 

_Do you see him? Your human. He’s weak, but his soul still shines, like one of the stars you were ordered to destroy. Do you remember their names anymore? Do you remember the species who perished for the ‘greater good’? Do you even believe in the greater good anymore?_

 

_Be selfish, Bokuto. Kill Kuroo, if you must. Save Keiji if you can._

 

 _But, whatever you do, do not die. No one would be able to bear it. The garrison, your human, even Kuroo, maybe, would break._ I _would break._

 

_Run, dear._

 

_Fly, dear.”_

 

…

 

He takes a single deep breath before jumping out the window. When his wings catch the wind, he nearly screams; the bones weren’t fully healed, and his feathers have yet to fully come back in.

 

The pain lessens slightly when he goes subatomic, until all he can feel is stardust on his cheeks and fire in his hair. And he flies, follows his soul, follows Keiji, follows Kiyoko-sama.

 

…

 

Bokuto has never been a major fan of going planetside - whatever gas makes up its atmosphere always stings his skin at first, entering the atmosphere always ruins his hair, and he’s never mastered the whole art of _the perfect landing._

 

He crashes into a hillside. Dirt gets all in his mouth, in his eyes and nose. He kicks his way out of it, rolls his wings and shoulders to dust it off. It’s dark here, but he can hear life all around him - insects chirping, birds squawking.

 

A human, crying in a house a few miles away.

 

_A-kaa-shi._

 

He is a bit surprised to landed so close by, practically on top of it, judging by the comet’s tail he left behind in the ground. But Kiyoko-sama was correct, may she always be, and lead him straight where he wanted to be.

 

_Keiji._

 

He tugs his twin swords out of their scabbards. He mumbles a quick prayer for Kiyoko-sama _(_ _Thank you, Kiyoko-sama, for the power you give me. May I serve you, and only you, until the universe deems it time for my death),_ before walks towards the house. The angelic steel drags across the earth, leaving deep cuts, even though it feels like he’s cutting through butter.

 

With every step, he feels stronger. With every foot walked, his bloodlust grows.

 

When he reaches the door, he remembers what Kai said - _come back, Bokuto._

 

“I’ll try,” he says, the exact same time he wills the door to implode.

 

…

 

When he first walks into the house, Bokuto notices three things. One - Keiji conscious, but just barely. His face is smeared with blood. Two - Kuroo is covered in blood, but not his own. He’s smiling, all teeth. And finally, three - the guardian angel has a knife pressed just below Akaashi’s ribs.

 

“It’s nice of you to show up. How was the trip?” Kuroo’s voice is sweet, lighthearted. The complete opposite of his dagger, and the blood on the floor, staining the wood a deep red. The complete opposite of everything the archangel once believed to be true.

 

“Let him go.”

 

“And why would I do that?” Kuroo’s voice is sugary-sweet, cloyingly so. Bokuto doesn’t know this guardian angel; he would never be friends with someone like this. This isn’t the Kuroo he once knew.

 

“Because, it’s too much like what happened to Kenma.

 

 _“Don’t_ say his name,” Kuroo spits out, pressing the knife Keiji’s stomach. It’s not hard enough to draw blood, but Keiji gasps. His eyes tear up. “You don’t get to say his name. It’s your fault he’s dead.”

 

Bokuto argues, “I didn’t - “

 

“You sided with them!” His eyes are wild, and his burnt and broken wings twitch. “You helped the angels, you got to love someone! It’s not fair!”

 

“I did my job, Kuroo,” he replies coldly. He tightens his grip on his swords.

 

“And I did mine. I protected him. I loved him, but he was never hurt. I did nothing wrong. Nekomata killed him. He would still be alive if he hadn’t.”

 

Bokuto swallows. He looks down at Keiji, the dagger digging into his skin, the angel above him.

 

_“Save Keiji if you can.”_

 

“You knew the rules, Kuroo.”

 

“Figured you would say that,” he shrugs, before plunging the blade between Keiji’s ribs.

 

All Bokuto can hear is screaming. All he can see is silver and crimson, and finally, pure black, as rage consumes him.

 

…

 

Keiji feels like he’s floating, suspended in space. He can feel his clothes, but the sensations are fuzzy, like they have all turned to string and fluff while he slept. He tries to move his fingers, but finds that he can’t. He settles for opening his eyes.

 

A girl is in front of him, swathed in glittering gold fabric. It’s floating, swirling around her, even though the air is still. She seems to fade in and out of focus, like she’s not entirely solid. Her right hand brushes Keiji’s arm. He watches it happen, but feels nothing.

 

“Bokuto is worried about you.” Like her body, her voice isn’t completely solid, isn’t unified. It sounds like a million people are talking all at once, saying the same message with different words. It’s nauseating, even though they’re all so softspoken. It’s too much, a million points of contact, all fighting silently to be at the forefront.

 

“He would destroy every star for you. Did you know that, Keiji?”

 

He can’t speak or nod, but she seems to understand anyway.

 

“He cares about you greatly. I have never had an angel under me feel so much. Not even Kuroo.

 

“I can feel all their pain. It helps me remain good, halts corruption. I feel it every time I send them to die. We can say it’s for the greater good all we want, but, can we really believe it? Is peace worth more than their existence?

 

“Kuroo and I agree on that front. I know it’s impossible to win any of these wars without casualty, but I wish it wasn’t necessary. So many innocent lives get caught up in it. Kenma, Kuroo’s last charge, was dragged into this. So were you.”

 

She’s growing quiet. Keiji can feel his skin. Ice fills his veins.

 

“I can save you. I want to.”

 

“But?” The word takes energy Keiji didn’t know he had.

 

“But, the power it would take would require Bokuto to lose his wings.”

 

Keiji can’t do that to him. He shakes his head no - he can’t take away something so fundamental. He _can’t._

 

“Do you think he wants to lose you either, Keiji? I think he would rather lose his wings than have you die.”

 

“Okay,” Keiji breaths. “Okay.”

 

…

 

The house on the hill is burning.

 

The heat is nothing to Bokuto, even as it singes his wings. He only has two things to focus on: killing Kuroo, and saving Keiji.

 

The guardian angel is swinging a battered sword in one hand, a red-stained dagger in the other. It had made a squelching sound when he ripped it out of Keiji’s stomach.

 

“He’s dead,” Kuroo keeps shouting as he parries Bokuto. “What are you going to do about it?”

 

He doesn’t reply - just keeps swinging and blocking, trying to find a way to end the fight. Black smoke is filling the room, making it hard to see clearly. It is just him and Kuroo; the world around them fades away.

 

“I _killed_ him. Does that make you sad?”

 

Bokuto nicks his hand. Kuroo swears, dropping the dagger. Silver blood drips between his fingers. He grins. The red firelight leaves his bloody face even more sinister.

 

Strike after strike follows, and Bokuto keeps drawing blood. Kuroo is still weak from their last fight, and he’s slow from a lack of practice. It takes a few lucky hits, but soon Kuroo is on the ground.

 

“Kenma is dead, too. Does that make you sad?”

 

His sword severs Kuroo’s head from his body before he can answer.

 

…

 

He drags Keiji out of the building. The human is breathing slowly, his heart barely beating. Blood slowly leaks out through his stab wound.

 

Bokuto collapses onto the ground beside him and lets the darkness consume him.

 

…

 

_“You promised not to die.”_

 

_“And I didn’t.”_

 

_“But, you almost did. I’m weak, Bokuto. I won’t be able to save you again.”_

 

_“But you can save me this time, right, Kiyoko-sama?”_

 

_“...Yes.”_

 

_“Then do it. I can’t not say goodbye. Keiji deserves better.”_

 

_“He’s a good person.”_

 

_“I know.”_

 

_…_

 

He wakes up in a white room, blankets tucked around him so tightly, he can barely move. It doesn’t stop him from trying.

 

“Please stop, Bokuto,” says a tired voice. “You’ll rip out the IV.”

 

He looks up. A smile finds its way onto his face immediately. “Keiji!”

 

The human smiles, but it’s pained. Bokuto doesn’t understand why. He looks fine, Bokuto can’t sense any injury, _he’s breathing -_

 

But -

 

“Please don’t be upset,” he whispers, clutching the armrests of his chair. His knuckles are white from strain.

 

Bokuto can’t sense anything. He feels blind without it, but Keiji is right here, in front of him. He doesn’t need it. Keiji is alive.

 

“I think - I think I met Kiyoko-sama,” he begins, not looking up. “Her voice is a bit strange. It was like a billion people were talking at once. But - she said she could save me. I wanted to say no. she said - she said - “

 

“What did she say?” Bokuto asks, just as quietly. He’s not sure he wants to know.

 

“She said you would lose your wings.”

 

Bokuto opens his mouth, but Keiji just starts talking louder. Faster, too, like he’s afraid he’ll never talk again if he doesn’t finish now.

 

“I wanted to say no, I promise, I did. I couldn’t take that from you. But then, Kiyoko-sama said she didn’t think you would want to live without me. And then, I realized, I didn’t want to live without you, either.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says one last time, before walking out of the room.

 

…

 

Bokuto isn’t sure how much time passes. Everything feels longer now, bigger.

 

He’s lonely, as well. It’s not something he’s ever felt before. It’s suffocating, the silence. He never wants to feel it again.

 

A nurse comes by to change his IV at one point. He had sat up excitedly when he first heard the footsteps. He couldn’t feel Keiji, but it could always be him. It could always be him, but - it’s not.

 

It’s not.

 

…

 

_She didn’t save you so you could mope around in your apartment._

 

The thought keeps Keiji awake every time he tries to sleep. It is pervasive and overwhelming. He can’t block it out.

 

He tries to sleep anyway.

 

…

 

Bokuto doesn’t understand the traits that were left behind. He can’t sense when people are approaching, he can’t tell what they’re thinking, but he can hear the day shift nurse talking to the night shift nurse.

 

_“Have you seen his scars? It’s like someone cut off limbs.”_

 

_“What about the silver liquid on him? Tech says it’s blood.”_

 

They talk at every shift change.

 

_“He doesn’t have any medical history, not even a childhood checkup. Who has never been to a pediatrician?”_

 

_“It’s weird. Nothing about him seems real.”_

 

_“It might be for the best. If you don’t ask any questions, I won’t.”_

 

_“Deal.”_

 

Bokuto tries to pretend it’s not about him.

 

…

 

Bokuto has lost count of how many cups of pudding he’s eaten by the time Keiji finally comes back to the hospital room.

 

The circles under his eyes look more like bruises. He’s thinner than usual. Bokuto wants to reach out and touch him, but he’s afraid the human will break.

 

(He can’t keep saying that. They’re both humans now.)

 

Keiji doesn’t talk for the longest time. He won’t look at Bokuto, either. So, neither does Bokuto. He’s done a lot of sitting in silence for the past few days; he treats this like it’s no different.

 

“Do you blame yourself?” he finally asks, breaking the silence.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You shouldn’t, Keiji. Kiyoko-sama could have killed me, if it meant you lived. I’ve lived a good life, far longer than most archangels. You’re so young.”

 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, running without a filter, but as long as he’s speaking, as long as Keiji’s not walking away, it’s good enough.

 

“I - I promised a guardian angel I wouldn’t die, but I would if it meant saving you.”

 

Keiji finally looks at him. He’s tearing up, his nose pink. He keeps sniffling.

 

“I don’t want you to die, either, Bokuto.”

 

“I guess you’ll have to make sure I don’t, then.”

  
He offers a smile, and before he can reach, Keiji is out of the chair and on his lap, hugging him as tightly as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, that's not the longest wait I've ever had on a fic, but it's up there. hqbb really sucked it out of me, and I was super stressed since I had less time since I traveled so much. I'm also back in school, which sucks, and I moved, which sucks more. anyway, this is done. I feel like there's still a lot left to be done with kuroo, so if you subscribe to the series, expect that in a few weeks. I appreciate anyone who reads it a shit ton  
> thank you sarcasticspacenerd on tumblr (rey) for editing and encouraging me to keep writing when I freaked out and thought it was terrible. i wouldn't have finished without you <3  
> writing schedule [here](https://mother-iwa-chan.tumblr.com/post/150893181178/writing-plan/)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not sure how often I'll be updating, but I have everything planned out, and I post as much as I can. Updates on how the chapter is coming can be found at mother-iwa-chan on tumblr
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. Requests are welcome at my [tumblr](http://mother-iwa-chan.tumblr.com/)


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